


at least you're here now

by megatronn



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Female James Bond, Female Q (James Bond), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63, just some good ol' lesbian loving, that I wrote like three years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megatronn/pseuds/megatronn
Summary: When she pulls the gun on the intruder what she isn’t expecting is a warm body on top of her, all curves and muscle, and a voice that says, ‘Now, now, darling, is that how we treat our guests?’ And she should have known, she should have known, goddamnit, and now that she does, she can’t help the way the gun goes loose in her hand, the way her legs automatically part to allow Bond more space, the way her breath hitches.





	at least you're here now

**Author's Note:**

> do ppl still read 00Q?

Q heads straight to the shower once she’s back. She spent the last thirty-six hours in the office, trying to fix the newest 007’s mess. The incompetent fool. She doesn’t like to think of James, it’s been six months, and all she remembers is James leaving. Taking the Aston Martin with her, leaving with Dr. Swann. Who is of course, absolutely gorgeous, so Q can’t exactly blame her. Q has never compared to any of Bonds conquests.

It’s not typical, for her to mope like this, nor are these bouts of self-deprecation particularly common, but sometimes, in the comfort of her home, she aches. Her heart aches and everything aches. She has half a mind to rub one out in the shower, Moneypenny keeps telling her she needs to get laid. But she hasn’t felt like it, not for a long time now. It’s stupid, to be hung up over someone who has driven off into the sunset, with absolutely no intention of coming back. And she tries, but Q has found that she isn’t very good at denial.

She looks at her fingers and their wrinkling, the waters already gotten cold. Her movements are sluggish when she dries herself off and puts on her sweats and t-shirt. They’re warm and comfortable, and Q face plants into her bed and sleeps.

When she wakes up four hours later, she hears the kettle running in the kitchen, she’s still too tired to move and she goes back to sleep. Later, she’ll wish she hadn’t.

***

It’s dark when she wakes up again, and she thanks her stars she started keeping her gun at the bedside table because there is someone next to her and she doesn’t know who the fuck it is.

When she pulls the gun on the intruder what she isn’t expecting is a warm body on top of her, all curves and muscle, and a voice that says, ‘Now, now, darling, is that how we treat our guests?’ And she should have known, she should have known, goddamnit, and now that she does, she can’t help the way the gun goes loose in her hand, the way her legs automatically part to allow Bond more space, the way her breath hitches.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ she asks, because she doesn’t have time for any of Bonds games, they’ve always hurt too much.

Struggling turns out to be futile, her hands are in an iron grip, Bond has hooked her feet around hers to stop her from moving. Q is incredibly turned on, and incredibly angry and incredibly sad. She wants to scream.

‘I’ve missed you, love.’ And there is more honesty in Bonds voice than Q expected, but she always leaves, she died once, and drove off into the sunset the other time, taking Q’s heart with her in the process. And Q wants to tell her that she was missed, and that life at HQ hasn’t been the same without her, that the new 007 is a complete fucking twat who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow, but she doesn’t say any of this. She knows it’s going to hurt again when Bond leaves.

Bond loosens her grip, but doesn’t move, settling more comfortably between Q’s thighs, bearing down more heavily on her.  
She doesn’t expect the kiss that comes next, doesn’t expect the presumptuous way in which Bond licks into her mouth, but she goes lax anyway. She has wanted this for so long, and she really doesn’t want to deny herself. And she loves the way bond tastes, of whiskey and tea, and she knows her mouth must be musty, but Bond doesn’t seem to care if the way she’s licking into her mouth is any indication.

When Bond leaves Q’s hands, to shove them up her shirt, Q arches of the bed. It feels so good to have someone touching her. Her belly feels full, like it’s about to burst, she should be embarrassed, about the way she wraps her legs around Bond’s waist, and starts humping into her belly, the way she can’t seem to keep her hands of off Bonds arms and shoulders, to just feel all the muscle there. Pushes her hands through the short strands of Bonds hair and holds on tight.

She arches up off the bed when she feels Bonds hands on her breasts. They’re small, she knows this, but they’re also very sensitive, so when Bond starts tugging at them and pinching them, she can’t help the whimpers the leave her mouth. Or the way she starts trying to tear at the buttons on Bonds blouse just to get the top off, off. She wants to get her hands on those gorgeous breasts she can feel pressing into her.

She can’t help the whine that escapes her when Bond pulls away. Stops touching her completely, just watches as Q wrestles her top off her shoulders and then attacks her bra, lace and see through, a bra that barely holds Bonds ample breasts inside, and Q is so happy that it has clasps in the front so it doesn’t come in the way when she latches her self onto Bond’s breast and starts to suckle. She starts chewing and gnawing, cupping Bond’s breast and just feeling. Loving the hitch she hears in Bond’s breath, the way Bond holds her head so tenderly, the way she says, ‘Q, Q, you gorgeous delectable creature, the things I want to do to you.’

The whine when James pulls her away is involuntary, ‘No, no, what are you – what are you doing?’ she asks trying to tug her head away from where Bond has a death grip in her hair so she can latch back on. And Bond chuckles, of course she does.

‘I know how desperate you are love, but I want to touch too.’ She says, and Q wants to snark back, wants to tell Bond that she doesn’t know anything, but Bond is pulling Q’s t-shirt over her head, latching herself on to Q’s pulse point and sucking, and Q forgets what she wanted to say in the first place. Q has never been very vocal in bed, but she can’t help the whines, and the whimpers and the way she gasps when Bond shoves her hands down the back of Q’s sweats and pulls her arse cheeks apart, starts circling her hole, and using the other to start shallowly thrusting in and out of her cunt, which is desperately, desperately wet.

Bond is trailing wet, sucking kisses down her chest, over her shoulders, tugging her nipples with her teeth, and it hurts, but it feels so, so good. Better than anything Q could have imagined.

Bond kisses down her stomach, pulling her hands out of Q’s pants so she can start tugging on Q’s breasts, scratching down them with her nails, Q knows there are going to be bruises tomorrow, but right now, she can’t be bothered.

She is very helpful, when Bond starts tugging at her pants, lifting her hips up so Bond can pull them down. And she hates the way Bond starts to tease her then, nuzzling at the apex between her thighs, biting and kissing and licking at her hipbones, and soft, sensitive inner of her thigh. She has never been more aroused in her life, ‘Bond, I know I have been relatively meek up until now, this is only because I was in shock, but I promise you this, if you don’t stop teasing me right the fuck now, I am going to wreck your fucking Martin.’

Bond laughs, of course she fucking does, she kisses Q’s clit, softly, tenderly, and when Q is about to yell at her again, Bond goes down on her in earnest. Her tongue circling and sucking at her clit, using one hand to hold Q’s hips down while the other is fucking in and out of her. Q can’t help the way she starts mewling like a kitten, the way her back arches up off the bed.

Q notices when the hand Bond was using to hold her down sneaks down into her skirt, and she wants to tell Bond to stop, to let her do it, but she just whimpers and whines, when Bond does something particularly clever and practiced with her tongue. It doesn't take long, is the thing. Q has been on edge for so long, she's been on edge for months, even before Bond left. There was a fire building in her belly, a fire that had started to pick up really quickly the minute she felt Bond's warm body on top of hers. She doesn't have time to think, strains against those thick arms, one holding her open, the other that had come back up to hold her down. Q arches against the pillow, and she bursts, _bursts_ with want.

She’s floating now, everything is pleasant and blissed out. Bond sucks her dry, continues to pet her and fondle her until her own release a couple of minutes later. Everything feels so good, it feels better when Bond crawls up her body and they start to kiss, slow and languid, Bond’s face is wet with her come, Q can taste herself on Bond’s tongue, and she wishes that she had been able to taste Bond too, maybe next time, she thinks. Before she catches herself, and drifts off, because there may not _be_ a next time, but at least she has this.

She wants to talk, talk about why Bond is here, how long she’s here for, and where Dr. Swann is, but those things don’t matter. Not now, when she feels more content than she has in a long time, when her belly is full and satisfied, and Bond is a warm, warm weight above her.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this purposeless porn a few years ago when I was a baby lesbian who didn't know what sex was because she hadn't had any sex. I'm just a more grown up lesbian now. I had this story on here, but then deleted it, and now, it's back! I may actually start writing again woahhh.


End file.
